cte^^^e^' 



s\vi'. 















i 




MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES'- 



FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN 



FOURTH EDITION 



" virginibus puerisque canto''' 

— HORACE. 

^* Made /or madrigals and catches'^ 

— DOBSON. 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
MDCCCXCII 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



CONTENTS. 

Dedication. page 

Fancy i 

Morning Mist 3 

Dawn and Dusk 4 

Summer 6 

Indian Summer 8 

The Ice-Prisoner 9 

February II 

The March Wind . 12 

An April Carol 14 

Idyllic 16 

A Glow-Worm 17 

In an Old Garden 19 

With a Rose 21 

To a Daisy 22 

On Some Buttercups 23 

To a Dandelion 24 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Apple Blossoms 26 

A Rose Lyric 27 

" Pansies for Thoughts " 29 

Nobility 30 

A Bunch of Quatrains 31 

A Quatrain. 
A Red Rose. 
April. 

Bacchus 32 

A Lyric 34 

A Catch 35 

A Snare 37 

A Madrigal 39 

A Betrothal 41 

A Persian Dancing Girl 42 

A Madrigal 44 

Child Fancies : 

In the Meadow 47 

In the Orchard 49 

Wizard Frost 50 

The Book-Hunter 51 

At the Door c;4 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

A Reminiscence 56 

Love's Seasons 58 

An Avowal 61 

In Parenthesis 64 

To My Message 66 

A Cigar 68 

A Bundle of Letters 71 

A Rhyme for Priscilla 75 

A Persian Nocturne 79 

Her Guitar 81 

The Muse . 84 

For Saynte Valentyne, His Daye 87 

To Cupid, February 14th . 89 

Engaged 91 

A Lyric 95 

An Untutored Mind 97 

The Village School 99 

A Colonial Missive .......... 103 

Good-Night 107 

Sonnets 109 

Breezes of Morning iii 

A Pacific Dawn 112 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

A Butterfly in Wall Street 113 

The Dancing Gypsy 114 

Strategy 115 

Re-awakening 116 

Miss Thomas's "A New Year's Masque" 117 

French Follies 119 

Come, Pan, and Pipe 121 

When Twilight Comes 122 

An Old Rondo 123 

Behind Her Fan 124 

Her China Cup 125 

To Cupid 126 

" Awake, Awake !" 127 

To My Love 128 

Valentine to an Anonymous Miss . . . 130 

A Coquette 132 

A Swell 134 

Of Rhyme 136 

To Austin Dobson 138 



FANCY. 

T I FT the oars and let us go 

Whither listless winds may blow,- 
Drifting idly with the tide, 
Kissing grasses either side, — 
Skimming deeps that lie between 
Bending willow-branches green : 
On, and on, and on we'll float 
With no pilot for our boat 
Save the zephyr, cool and bland, 
Lisping from the launching-land, — 
Guided by no stars above, — 
Only lucent eyes of love. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Sailing, we at last shall reach 
Silver sands of island beach, 
Where a seaward-blown perfume 
Hints of orchard fruit and bloom. 
In this golden ocean-isle 
Let us wander for a while. 
Plucking from its treasure-trees 
Apples of Hesperides. 



MORNING MIST. 

A CROSS the level meadow-land 
"^^ There hangs a veil of vapor white, 

Like some forgotten robe of night 
Held in the morning's rosy hand. 

Along the grass the wind-waves run, 

And wake the witches' weird refrain : 
" Behold the ghost of last night's rain !' 

And lo, it melts before the sun. 

Then comes a rustle in the wood, 
As if upon the leaves were cast 
A sudden spell,— the ghost has passed 

Into their shadowed solitude 1 



DAWN AND DUSK. 
I. 
OLENDER strips of crimson sky 

Near the dim horizon lie, 
Shot across with golden bars 
Reaching to the fading stars f 
Soft the balmy west wind blows 
Wide the portals of the rose ; 
Smell of dewy pine and fir, 
Lisping leaves and vines astir ; 
On the borders of the dark 
Gayly sings the meadow-lark, 
Bidding all the birds assemble, — 
Hark, the welkin seems to tremble ! 
Suddenly the sunny gleams 
Break the poppy-fettered dreams, — • 

Dreams of Pan, with two feet cloven, 
Piping to the nymph and faun, 

Who, with wreaths of ivy woven, 
Nimbly dance to greet the dawn. 



DAJVN AND DUSK. 



II. 

Shifting shadows indistinct ; 

Leaves and branches, crossed and linked 

Cling like children, and embrace, 

Frightened at the moon's pale face. 

In the gloomy wood begins 

Noise of insect violins ; 

Swarms of fireflies flash their lamps 

In their atmospheric camps, 

And the sad-voiced whip-poor-will 

Echoes back from hill to hill, 

Liquid clear above the crickets 

Chirping in the thorny thickets. 

Weary eyelids, eyes that weep, 

Wait the magic touch of sleep ; 

While the dew, in silence falling. 
Fills the air with scent of musk. 

And this lonely night-bird, calling, 
Drops a note down through the dusk. 



SUMMER. 

TV /TEADOWS lost in clouds of mist ; 

Grass whose lips the dew has kissed 
Buds whose fragrant breath is drawn 
Through the freshness of the dawn ; 
Vines in whose slight pulses flows 
Life-blood of the crimson rose ; 
Flocks of happy-hearted birds 
Talking in melodious words ; 
Brooks, unfettered by the Spring, 
Through the pastures murmuring, — 
Children prattling in their glee 
Chasing to the mother sea ; 
Soft south-breezes, — gentle rain, — 
Rival wooers of the plain ; 



SUMMER. 



Here and there beside the path 
Flowers emerging from their bath ; 
Waving forest-floods of green, 
Leaves with blossoms white between. 

Ah ! the bud is open now, 
Hints of fruit hang on the bough. 
And the velvet rose is born 
At the coming of the morn ; 
There's a gladness in the sun 
Speaks of something new begun, — 
Of a work mysterious 
Nature has performed for us. 
Hark, the honey-bee's low hum 
Tells us that the summer's come I 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

A CROSS the billowy meadow grasses 

The Summer passes with languid tread. 
And where she journeys the path is burning, 
And leaves are turning to brown and red. 

She goes in silence across the valley 
Where low winds rally around her track 

And touch her garment and murmur, " Maiden, 
With roses laden, come back, come back !" 

She does not heed them, — she does not listen 
Her soft eyes glisten with welling tears ; 

Her heart grows heavy for not replying 
To verdure dying, — to prayers she hears. 

But once, in sorrow, she turns and lingers 
To kiss the fingers fast growing cold. 

And all the Earth for a moment's pleasure 
Yields up her treasure of yellow gold. 



THE ICE-PRISONER. 

A BOVE, — a dome of gray ; below, — 
The landscape carpeted with snow : 
No bird so warmly clad or bold 
Who dares to brave the bitter cold. 
I find within the silent wood 
A solitude of solitude. 
Through leafle€S trees no breeze is blown 
To hint that I am not alone, — 
No echo cracks the crystal air : 
The world about me seems to wear 
A look of peaceful loneliness, 
Remembering the soft caress 
Of summer winds that robbed the flowers, 
And music measuring the hours. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Throughout the land the hush of death : 
I breathe, and, lo, — the ghost of breath ! 
The crisp snow crunches 'neath my tread 
Like fallen twigs and branches dead. 

But hark ! Along the frozen ground 
I catch a muffled liquid sound, — 
A voice that sings of Paradise, 
Low murmuring in walls of ice, — 
A melody that seems to run 
To find again the truant sun. 
I hear the fettered pulses stir 
Of winter's happy prisoner 
Whose merry song and laughter bring 
A thought of the returning spring, — 
Of buds and grass with warm rain wet. 
And April's early violet. 



FEBRUARY, 

T IKE mimic meteors the snow 

* In silence out of heaven sifts, 

And wanton v/inds that wake and blow 

Pile high their monumental drifts. 

And looking through the window-panes 
I see, 'mid loops and angles crossed. 

The dainty geometric skeins 

Drawn by the fingers of the Frost. 

'Tis here at dawn where comes his Love, 
All eager and with smile benign, — 

A golden Sunbeam from above, — 
To read the Frost's gay valentine. 



THE MARCH WIND. 

"OLOW, wind of March, and sing 

Your songs unto the timid buds and grass i 
Unclasp the fetters of the woodland spring 
Hushed in its house of glass. 

Blow, wind of March, and thrill 
The languid pulses of the barren trees, 

Until their empty hands with blossoms fill 
And tempt the honey-bees. 

Blow, wind of March, and wake 

The sleeping violets with gentle words , 

Spread your green canopy of leaves and make 
A shelter for the birds. 



THE MARCH WIND. 



Blow, sturdy wind of March, 

And burst the winter's frosty prison-bars ; 
Blow all the clouds from heaven's azure arch 

And stud it with white stars. 

Blow, wind of March, ay, blow. 

Until the orchards heed your voice, and bloom ; 
Then whisper softly where the wild flowers grow 

About the winter's tomb. 



AN APRIL CAROL. 



PRIL! 



A 

Robin, sing to greet her ; 

Down the meadow dart to meet her ! 
See, she brings the leaf and flower. 
Fickle sun and fickle shower, 
Gives the day another hour. 

Makes the breezes sweeter. 

April ! 

Maidens, lend your faces 
Dimpled smiles and gentle graces ! 

See, she brings the blue-bells' chimes^ 
Tardy lovers with their rhymes, 
Steals her days from warmer climes, 
Nights from dewy places. 



AN APRIL CAROL. 15 

April ! 

Song, be blithe and tender ; 

Music, sound with double splendor ! 
See, she brings the warbling birds, 
Troops of bees and dappled herds. 
Teaches love mysterious words. 

Bids the heart surrender. 



IDYLLIC. 

'T^O lie beneath a cloudless sky 

On moss beside a shallow brook 
Where smells of wild-flowers in the dells 

Make me forgetful of my book, — 
To dream of shepherd with his crook, 

Of sheep on grassy slopes asleep, — 
To catch a visionary look 

Of shepherdess, and hear her step 
Fall like a whisper on the ground, — 

To watch her sunny smiles, and see 
Her dainty garments, soft and snowy, 

Fold gracefully her form around, — 
'Tis like a day in Sicily 

With Daphnis and his sweetheart ChloS. 



A GLOW-WORM. 

/'"^LOSE by the margin tufts of grass 

Weighed down with dew and damp, 
I found you as I chanced to pass, 

Your trimmed and shining lamp 
Illumining with greenish light 
The dusty road in dusky night : 

A velvet ring set round with gems 

That softly shone below 
The pale blue chicory'iB tall stems, 

As if the path to show 
To some belated beetle who 
Went stumbling homeward in the dew : 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



A phosphorescent beacon there, — 

A solitary guide 
For insect ships that sail the air 

On breaths of fragrant tide ; 
Or were you from some realm on high- 
A star dropped from the summer sky ? 



IN AN OLD GARDEN. 

'T^HREE giant fir-trees reach their arms 
To shade this quiet garden plot, 
And here and there a fragrant knot 
Of roses tempts the buzzing swarms. 

Amid a host of alien weeds 

Spring faces of familiar blooms 
Which, breathing stories in perfumes. 

Seem ghosts of some forgotten seeds. 

The creeping vine, its tendrils round 
The crooked rows of untrimmed box. 
Forsaken now, methinks it knocks 

To gain admittance to the ground. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



All, all is waste and desolate, — 
The blowing firs are full of grief, 
The blue-bird hidden by a leaf 

Sings sorrow^fully to his mate. 

The scattered flowers alone are gay ; 
Their fragrance fills the gentle wind, 
And I, grown drowsy, dream and find 

The long forgotten yesterday. 



WITH A ROSE. 

A TINY fire within this rose 

Lends to the leaves a crimson flush 
Like that soft tint which comes and goes 
And weaves a modest maiden's blush. 

So to my Sweet this censer bloom 
Swung by Love's little acolyte 

I send, that all its fine perfume 

May float around her through the night. 

Go, Rose, unto my heart's desire, 

Perchance her love for you may frame 

A dream of Cupids in a choir 
All chanting lyrics to her name. 

And when the dream shall end at last, 
A priceless gift shall be your fee,— 

To feel her kisses falling fast 
Upon your lips for love of me. 



TO A DAISY. 

\ T TEE, little rimless wheel of Fate, 

With silver spokes and hub of yellow. 
What gentle girl, in accents mellow, 
Has sought your aid to find a mate ? 

Who snapt your slender spokes apart, 

Each one some dear acquaintance naming? 
And who was he— the loved one, claiming 

The choicest chamber in her heart ? 

O tiny hub of golden hue. 

Kissed by her fingers' tender pressing. 
Still yet, methinks, she's vainly guessing 

If what you prophesied were true. 

You died between her finger-tips, 
Sweet gypsy maid of wisdom magic ; 
Pray, is it worth a death so tragic 

To hear the music of her lips ? 



ON SOME BUTTERCUPS. 

\ LITTLE way below her chin, 

Caught in her bosom's snowy hem, 
Some buttercups are fastened in, — 
Ah, how I envy them ! 

They do not miss their meadow place, 
Nor are they conscious that their skies 

Are not the heavens, but her face, 
Her hair, and mild blue eyes. 

There, in the downy meshes pinned, 
Such sweet illusions haunt their rest ; 

They think her breath the fragrant wind, 
And tremble on her breast ; 

As if, close to her heart, they heard 

A captive secret slip its cell, 
And with desire were sudden stirred 

To find a voice and tell ! 



TO A DANDELION. 

T ITTLE mimic of the sun, 

Hiding in the fragrant grass. 
Have you any kisses won 

From the pretty maids who pass ? 
When the sun slips down the west 
Some fair girl shall come in quest 

Of the secret which you lock 
In your tiny golden breast : 

You shall hear an airy knock, 

And a question : What o'clock? 

Ah, you dainty, snowy ghost. 

See what bliss your wisdom brings ! 

Tell me, pray, what angels boast 
Such a zephyr for their wings ? 



TO A DANDELION. 25 

Just because the hour you tell. 
She repays your magic well, — 

Wafts you off to paradise ; 
Sounds for you a gentle knell ; 

Lights your journey with her eyes : 

Would that I were half so wise ! 



APPLE BLOSSOMS. 

'T^HE soft wind whispered secrets to the apple tree, 
Caressed her in his arms and would not let 
her go 
Until the rosy blossoms came triumphantly 
To tell the one sweet message that he wished to know. 

A timid maiden with her lover lingered there 

In silence, clasping hands amid the leaves that 

fell, 
Till one bold blossom drifting down the per- 
fumed air 
Just touched her rounded cheek, and bade the blushes 
tell. 



A ROSE LYRIC. 

"P) OSE in the garden-close, 

Why, when the light wind blows. 
Why do you bend your head ? 
Why do your cheeks grow red ? 
Rose, my sweet, — rose at my feet, 
Tell me ! 

What does the soft gale say 
Whispering low all day, — 

Kissing your lips a-bloom. 

Answering back perfume ? 
Rose, my sweet, — rose at my feet, 
Tell me ! 



28 MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 

Tell me that I may woo 
Her as the wind wooes you ; 
What are the words that start 
Blushes from your sweet heart ? 
Rose, my sweet, — rose at my feet. 
Tell me ! 

Rose, of all roses, queen, 
Budding at seventeen. 

Place the flower near your lip. 

Then if the secret slip, 
Rose, my Sweet, — Rose, at your feet, 
Tell me ! 



" PANSIES FOR THOUGHTS." 

T70R you these tiny flowers are cut, — 

These slender-stemmed, rich purple pansies 
A thousand thoughts and tender fancies 

Within their little hearts are shut. 

Sweet memories of happy hours 

We spent together, — dear romances, — 
Like love in one of Cupid's glances, 

Hide in the fragrance of these flowers. 



NOBILITY. 

'~pHE sturdy wind that fills the ship's white sail 

And turns the mighty mill-wheel when it blows, 
Once breathed the love-song of the nightingale, 
And wafted him the perfume of the rose. 

Let him who seeks a god-like man to find 
Think of the wind, and seek its counterpart : 

The tempest's strength, matched by a noble mind. 
The zephyr by a pure and gentle heart ! 



A BUNCH OF QUATRAINS. 



A QUATRAIN. 

T TARK at the lips of this pink whorl of shell 

And you shall hear the ocean's surge and roar 
So in the quatrain's measure, written well, 
A thousand lines shall all be sung in four ! 



A RED ROSE. 

Once, long ago, in some sweet garden's hush, 
A lover gave you, snow-white, to his love ; 

And, lifted to her lips, you saw her blush 
And blushed to match her damask cheek above. 

APRIL. 

As any child, this baby of the year's 

Made glad with toys, forgets imagined woes : 

Thus comes young April smiling through her tears, 
Her toys the flowers, her grief the vanished snows. 



BACCHUS. 

T ISTEN to the tawny thief, 

Hid behind the waxen leaf. 
Growling at his fairy host. 
Bidding her with angry boast 
Fill his cup with wine distilled 
From the dew the dawn has spilled; 
Stored away in golden casks 
Is the precious draught he asks. 

Who, — who makes this mimic din 
In this mimic meadow inn, 
Sings in such a drowsy note. 
Wears a golden belted coat ; 
Loiters in the dainty room 
Of this tavern of perfume ; 
Dares to linger at the cup 
Till the yellow sun is up ? 



BACCHUS. 33 



Bacchus, 'tis, come back again 
To the busy haunts of men ; 
Garlanded and gayly dressed. 
Bands of gold about his breast ; 
Straying from his paradise. 
Having pinions angel-wise, — 
*Tis the honey-bee, who goes 
Reveling within a rose ! 



A LYRIC. 

A LYRIC is a tiny bird,— 

Gay lover of the garden blooms,- 
Whose little heart is ever stirred 
By colors and perfumes. 

Its flights are near the lowly things, 
Not to the eagle-epic's skies : 

It is content to flash its wings 
Beneath my loved one's eyes. 

Go then, my song, you have the chart 
To guide you to a gentle clime, — 

Go build your nest, and thrill her heart 
With flutterings of rhyme ! 



A CATCH. 

TF any grace 

To me belong, 
In song, 
Know then your face 
Has been to me 
A key ; 
For pitched in this 
Delicious tone, 

I've known 
I could not miss 

What music slips 
Your lips. 



^6 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 

If faults be found 
In any line 

Of mine, 
To mar the sound 
Of notes that try- 
To vie 
With yours, my Sweet, 
Then, always true. 
Do you 
The words repeat, 
And make sublime 
My rhyme ! 



A SNARE. 

"T OVE I locked upon a time 
■^ In the fetters of my rhyme, 
Bound his feet and fixed his hands 
Firm in fancy-forged bands, 
Fastened with a dainty twist 
Couplet-gyves around his wrist, 
Sealed his lips and left him, dumb, 
Prisoner till She should come. 

Then I said unto my Heart : 

" By this magic, by this art 

You shall learn if She be kind 

To your constancy, or blind : 

Like the rhyme your chains are stout 

Captive in the dungeon Doubt, 

There you languish at the door 

Praying freedom evermore. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



If she pity Love's distress, — 
If, with maiden tenderness, 
She his bands and fetters slip, 
Murmuring with trembling lip 
Linked music of my song, — 
Be of cheer ; for then, ere long, 
At your bars her face you'll see, — 
Then the lock shall feel the key 
Turn its rusty round, — and then. 
Love know liberty again !" 



A MADRIGAL. 

A LL the world is bright, 
All my heart is merry, 
Violets and roses red, 

Sparkling in the dew ; 
Brow — the lily's white ; 

Lip — the crimson berry ; 
Hark, I hear a lightsome tread, — 
Ah, my love, 'tis you ! 

Wing to me, birds, and sing to me ; 

None so happy as I ! 
Only the merriest melodies bring to me 

When my beloved is by. 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



All the air is sweet, 

All my heart is quiet, 
Fleecy clouds on breezes warm 

Floating far above : 
Eye — where soft lights meet ; 

Cheek — where roses riot ; 

Look, I see a gracious form,— 

Ah, 'tis you, my love ! 

Wing to her, birds, and sing to her ; 

None so happy as she I 
Only the merriest melodies bring to her, 

Only this message from me 1 



A BETROTHAL. 

T LOVE you," he whispered low, 

In joy, for a moment bold ; 
And suddenly, white as snow, 
The warm little hand grew cold. 

I love you," again he said, 

And touched the soft finger-tips ; 

But shyly she bent her head, 
To hide the two trembling lips. 

I love you," — she turned her face. 

His heart overfilled with fear ; 
When lo, on her cheek the trace 

Of one tiny passion-tear ! 

I love you," he gently spoke, 

And kissed her, sweet, tearful ^td 

The rose-blossom fetters broke : 
" I love you, too," they replied. 



A PERSIAN DANCING GIRL. 

JASMINES tangled in her hair- 
Ebon hair that loosely hangs, 
Looped with silver serpent fangs, 
Swaying in the scented air. 

Silken sandals on her feet — 
Tiny feet that trip in time 
To the tambourine, and rhyme 

With the tinkling music sweet. 

On her olive-tinted breast, 

Turquoise trinkets, jewels, rings — 
Lovers' tokens— gifts from kings, 

Jingle gayly, never rest. 

Now she gives a dizzy twirl 
To the measure of the dance — 
Quicker than a stolen glance, 

Glides the dainty, graceful girl. 



A PERSIAN DANCING GIRL. 



Just beyond the eager throng 
Lazily her lover smokes 
With his rivals, telling jokes 

Spiced with strains of Persian song. 

Idly waiting — well he knows 
How they hate him, every one. 
In the garden of the Sun 

He has picked the fairest rose. 



A MADRIGAL. 

QWEETHEART, the year is young, 

And 'neath the heavens blue 
The fresh wild-flowers have hung 
Their cups to catch the dew. 
And love like a bird carols one soft word. 

Sweetheart, to the sapphire skies ; 
And floating aloft comes an echo soft 
" Sweetheart" — your eyes ! 

Sweetheart, the year is sweet 
With fragrance of the rose 

That bends before your feet 
As to the gale that blows. 



A MADRIGAL. 45 



And love like a bird quavers one low word, 
Sweetheart, to the garden place ; 

And across the glow comes an echo low 
" Sweetheart" — your face ! 

Sweetheart, the year grows old ; 

Upon the meadows brown 
And forests, waving gold, 

The stars look, trembling, down. 
And love like a bird whispers one pure word. 

Sweetheart, to the cooling air ; 
And the breezes sure waft an echo pure 
" Sweetheart" — your hair ! 

Sweetheart, the year wanes fast ; 

The summer birds have flown 
From winter's spiteful blast 
Unto a sun-bound zone. 
And love like a bird warbles one clear word, 

Sweetheart, to the balmy south ; 
And back to my ear comes an echo clear 
" Sweetheart" — your mouth ! 



46 MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 

Sweetheart, the year is gone ; — 

Lean closer to my heart ! 
Time only weighs upon 
The loves that dwell apart. 
And love like a bird with his whole soul stirred, 

Sweetheart, shall carol his glee ; 
And to you I'll cling while the echoes ring 
** Sweetheart" — for me ! 



CHILD-FANCIES. 

IN THE MEADOW. 

nnHE meadow is a battle-field 

Where Summer's army comes, 
£ach soldier with a clover shield, 
The honey-bees with drums. 

Boom, rat-ta ! they march, and pass 

The captain tree who stands 
Saluting with a sword of grass 
And giving them commands. 

'Tis only when the breezes blow 

Across the woody hills, 
They shoulder arms, and, to and fro, 
March in their full-dress drills. 
Boom, rat-ta ! they wheel in line 
And wave their gleaming spears ; 
*' Charge !" cries the captain, giving sign, 
And every soldier cheers. 



48 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 

But when the day is growing dim 

They gather in their camps 
And sing a good thanksgiving hymn 
Around the fire-fly lamps. 
Rat-tat-ta ! the bugle-notes 

Call "good-night" to the sky : 
I hope they all have overcoats 
To keep them warm and dry. 



IN. THE ORCHARD. 



IN THE ORCHARD. 

r~^ ROBIN in the cherry tree 

I hear you caroling your glee : 
The platform where you lightly tread 
Is lighted up with cherries red, 
And there you sing among the boughs 
Like Patti at the opera-house. 
Who is the hero in your play 
To whom you sing in such a way ? 
And why are you so gayly dressed 
With scarlet ribbons on your breast ? 
And is your lover good and true ? 
And does he always sing to you ? 
Your orchestra are winds that blow 
Their blossom-notes to me beiow ; 
And all the trembling leaves are throngs 
Of people clapping for your songs. 

I wonder if you like it when 

I clap for you to sing again. 



so MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 

WIZARD FROST. 

"1 T TONDROUS things have come to pass 

On my square of window-glass. 
Looking in it I have seen 
Grass no longer painted green, — 
Trees whose branches never stir, — 
Skies without a cloud to blur, — 
Birds below them sailing high, — 
Church-spires pointing to the sky,— 
And a funny little town 
Where the people, up and down 
Streets of silver, to me seem 
Like the people in a dream. 
Dressed in finest kinds of lace : 
'Tis a picture, on a space 
Scarcely larger than the hand, 
Of a tiny Switzerland, 
Which the wizard Frost has drawn 
'Twixt the nightfall and the dawn. 
Quick and see what he has done 
Ere 'tis stolen by the Sun. 



THE BOOK-HUNTER. 

A CUP of coffee, eggs, and rolls 

Sustain him on his morning strolls: 
Unconscious of the passers-by, 
He trudges on with downcast eye ; 
He wears a queer old hat and coat, 
Suggestive of a style remote ; 
His manner is preoccupied, — 
A shambling gait, from side to side. 
For him the sleek, bright-windowed shop 
Is all m vain, — he does not stop. 
His thoughts are fixed on dusty shelves 
Where musty volumes hide themselves,— 
Rare prints of poetry and prose, 
And quaintly lettered folios, — 
Perchance a parchment manuscript, 
In some forgotten corner slipped, 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Or monk-illumined missal bound 
In vellum with brass clasps around ; 
These are the pictured things that throng 
His mind the while he walks along. 

A dingy street, a cellar dim, 

With book-lined walls, suflSces him. 

The dust is white upon his sleeves ; 

He turns the yellow, dog-eared leaves 

With just the same religious look 

That priests give to the Holy Book. 

He does not heed the stifling air 

If so he find a treasure there. 

He knows rare books, like precious winea 

Are hidden where the sun ne'er shines ; 

For him delicious flavors dwell 

In books as in old Muscatel ; 

He finds in features of the type 

A clew to prove the grape was ripe. 



THE BOOK-HUNTER. 53 

And when he leaves this dismal place, 
Behold, a smile lights up his face ! 
Upon his cheeks a genial glow, — 
Within his hand Boccaccio, 
A first edition worn with age, 
" Firenze'* on the title-page. 



AT THE DOOR. 

TT THAT time the night-bird to the rose 

Sings of his love, 
I seek her garden-plot where grows 
A blossom-laden vine that throws 

Its arms above, 

And scales the weary stretch of stone. 

Until at length 
It clasps her lattice open thrown. 
And sees the sweet face of my own 

And finds new strength. 

How often I have strived to climb 

Love's barrier wall 
Upon the ladder of my rhyme : 
A little way, — yet, time on time, 

I faint and fall. 



AT THE DOOR. 55 



Methinks if once I could but rise 

Up to the bars, 
And gather courage from those eyes 
To speak — so close unto the skies — 

Unto the stars — 

Alas, my fancy goes no more ! 

Perhaps 'twould be 
As if, with weary feet and sore, 
I came to Heaven's closed door 

Without a key. 



A REMINISCENCE. 

'T^HERE was a time, fond girl, when you 

Were partial to caresses ; 
Before your graceful figure grew 

Too tall for ankle-dresses ; 
When " Keys and Pillows," and the rest 

Of sentimental pastimes, 
Were thought to be the very best 

Amusement out of class-times. 

You wore your nut-brown hair in curls 
That reached beyond your bodice, 

Quite in the style of other girls, — 
But you I thought a goddess ! 

I wrote you letters, long and short, 
How many there's no telling ! 



A REMINISCENCE. 



Imagination was my forte : — 
I can't say that of spelling ! 

We shared our sticks of chewing-gum, 

Our precious bits of candy ; 
Together solved the knotty sum, 

And learned the ars amaitdi : 
Whene'er you wept, a woful lump 

Stuck in my throat, delayed there ! 
My sympathetic heart would jump : — > 

I wondered how it stayed there ! 

We meet to-day, — we meet, alas ! 

With salutation formal ; 
I'm in the college senior class, 

You study at the Normal ; 
And as we part I think again, 

And sadly wonder whether 
You wish, as I, we loved as when 

We sat at school together ! 



LOVE'S SEASONS. 

''T^WAS spring when I first found it out 

'Twas autumn when I told it ; 
The gloomy winter made me doubt, 

And summer scarce could hold it : 
"She loves," the mating robins sang 

In sweet, delicious trebles, 
And through the brooks the echo rang 

In music o'er the pebbles. 

The fresh air, filled with fragrant scent 

Of blossoms, softly hinted 
The self-same song ; where'er I went 

I found the message printed 
On bud and leaf, on earth and sky, 

Through sun and rain it glistened, 



LOVE'S SEASONS. 59 

And though I never reasoned why, 
I always read or listened. 

The summer dawned, and still the birds 

Sang in their tree-top glory, 
And something seemed to make their words 

A sequel to ray story : 
" You love," they twittered in the trees ; 

Whene'er the light wind stirred them, — 
Distracting v/ords ! — on every breeze 

They fluttered, and I heard them. 

At last the mellow autumn came. 

And all the leaves were turning, 
The fields and forests were aflame 

In golden sunlight burning ; 
The parting birds sang out again 

A sentimental message ; 
" Go tell her," whispered they, and then 

I thought 'tv/as love's first presage. 



6o MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 

O timid-hearted twenty-four, 

To faint and lose your courage, 
Or half-reluctantly implore 

A pretty girl at her age ! 
For when I stammered what they'd sung. 

And all their secrets told her, 
She said the birds were right, and hung 

Her head upon my shoulder. 



AN AVOWAL. 

SPHERE'S a word in my heart, dare I tell it? 

A dangerous, wonderful word : 
It calls, and I hush it and quell it ; 

It flutters and calls like a bird 
Made captive from out its dark prison, 

And begs for a glimmer of light ; 
Up, up to my throat it is risen. 

And poises for flight. 

Her eyes are like stars softly shining, 

Each one has a sparkle within ; 
And radiant roses are twining 

In cheeks where my kisses have been. 
But something of sadness and sorrow, 

A shadowy emblem of doom, 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Seems whispering, "Wait for the morrow !' 
And leaves me in gloom. 

One touch of her exquisite fingers. 

One pressure of velvety tips, 
In memory's mazes still lingers ; 

One kiss is still fresh on my lips. 
But down in my heart in a flutter 

A bird dwells to tenderly sing 
The song that my lips dare not utter, 

The song of a ring, — 

A ring wrought of gold, with a jewel 

Imbedded within it that tries 
To flash back the soft or the cruel 

Light locked in her beautiful eyes. 
Will she wear it, I wonder, a token 

Of all that my heart holds so fast 
That the fetters remain yet unbroken 

And firm to the last ? 



AN AVOWAL. 



There it comes ! What a ghost of a shiver 

Just ran through my stammering tongue ! 
And down in my heart there's a quiver 

Of something that ought to be sung. 
One word — ah, my darling, you know it ; 

The long captive songster has flown ! 
Love — love — is the burden ; the poet 

Loves you — you alone ! 



IN PARENTHESIS. 

T READ the verses from my copy, 

A bunch of fancies culled from Keats, 
A rhyme of rose and drowsy poppy, 

Of maiden, song, and other sweets : 
The lines — so patiently I penned them. 

Without one sable blot or blur — 
I knew had music to commend them 

And all their secret thoughts to her. 

She heard the rhythmical romanza, 
And made a comment there and here ; 

I read on to the final stanza, 
Where timid love had made me fear. 



IN PARENTHESIS. 



A long parenthesis ; the metre 

Went lamely on without a foot, 
Because the sentiment was sweeter 

Than love emboldened me to put. 

Alas, I tried to fill the bracket ; 

The truant thought refused to come ! 
The point, — to think the rhyme should lack it ! 

My wakeful conscience struck me dumb. 
She took the little leaf a minute, — 

Ah, what a happy time was this ! 
The bracket soon had something in it, — 

I kissed her in parenthesis. 



TO MY MESSAGE. 

"\ T yTHEN in her lap you lie, 

Little note, 
Look upward to your sky — 
A tender, mild blue eye, 

A round, rose-colored throat, 
An exquisite white chin 
With one star-dimple in : 

Look upward from her lap's 

Soft pillow, and perhaps 
You may see 

Her think of me. 

And if by happy chance, 

Letter mine, 
You see her blue eyes glance 
Across your smooth expanse, 
Or fixed upon the line 



TO MY MESSAGE. 6^ 

Which rhymes with all the love 
Reflected there above, 

Grieve not that you are dumb ; 

But think that I shall come 
Once again, — 

Your spokesman then. 

Ah me ! would I, like you, 

Missive slirht, 
Might watch those clear eyes blue, 
That throat and white chin, too, 

And read them all aright, — 
Might feel the red lips touch 
My own, — I'd give — how much ! — 

Just once to take your place, 

My paradise her face 
And a part 

Of her dear heart. 



A CIGAR. 

A LONE I puff soft wreaths of blue 

That frame a most delightful view ;-« 

A little library with two 
Together sitting : 

A youth and girl. Upon her knees 

A novel with a hero ; he's 

A ghostly circumstance to these 

Quaint wraps she's knitting. 

The lover holds the worsted, and 
Just touches one fair pinky hand : 
How well her bright eyes understand ! 

For soon, unbidden, 
Two scarlet lips begin to move 
A conversation in that groove 



A CIGAR. 6g 



Where chosen words quite clearly prove 
The subject hidden. 

And then the knitting's laid aside ; 

The needle's dropped ; and some sweet guide 

Leads both his hands to haply hide 

Two others whiter. 
I listen, and a mellow note 
Slips through the rosy, rounded throat : 
I hear the happy lover quote 

The novel's writer. 

The writer, — ah, what kind fates come 

To keep harsh criticism from 

His little book : perhaps 'tis some 
Such situation ; — 

A picture similar to this. 

Portraying a brief spell of bliss, 

And punctuated with a kiss- 
Interrogation. 



MADRIGALS A A' D CATCHES. 



I see the faces slowly meet, 

And shy, uncertain glances greet : 

The knitting's fallen to her feet ; 

And on his shoulder 
Her head in golden glory lies, 
While, fathoming her lovely eyes, 
He reads the tenderest replies, — 

Love growing bolder. 

But, while I dream in idleness, 
And wonder whether she will bless 
His hearing with a whispered " yes,"- 

With drooping lashes ; 
The picture fades from sight afar 
As pales at morn a silver star ; 
I seek the light of my cigar. 

And find but ashes. 



A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 

OTRANGE how much sentiment 

Clings like a fragrant scent 
To these love-letters pent 

In their pink covers : 
Day after day they came 
Feeding love's fickle flame ; — 
Now, she has changed her namey--^- 
Then, we were lovers. 

Loosen the silken band 
Round the square bundle, and 
See what a dainty hand 

Scribbled to fill it 
Full of facetious chat ; 
Fancy how long she sat 
Moulding the bullets that 

Came with each billet! 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Ah, I remember still 
Time that I used to kill 
Waiting the postman's shrill, 

Heart-stirring whistle, 
Calling vague doubts to mind, 
Whether or no I'd find 
That he had left behind 

One sweet epistle. 

Seconds become an age 
At this exciting stage ; 
Two eager eyes the page 

Scan for a minute ; 
Then, with true lover's art. 
Study it part by part, 
Until they know by heart 

Everything in it. 

What is it all about ? 
Dashes for words left out,— 



A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. 



Pronouns beyond a doubt ! 

Very devoted. 
Howells she's just begun ; 
Dobson her heart has won ; 
Locker and Tennyson 

Frequently quoted. 

Criss-cross the reading goes, 
Rapturous rhyme and prose, — 
Words which I don't suppose 

Look very large in 
Books on the " ologies" ; 
Then there's a tiny frieze 
Full of sweets in a squeeze, 

Worked on the margin. 

Lastly, — don't pause to laugh !- 
That is her autograph 
Signing this truce for half 

Her heart's surrender ; 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



Post-scriptum, one and two, — 
Desserts, — the dinner's through !- 
Linking the " I " and "You" 
In longings tender. 

Such is the type of all 
Save one, and let me call 
Brief notice to this small 

Note neatly written : 
'Tis but a card, you see, 
Gently informing me 
That it can never be ! — 

This is the mitten ! 



A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA. 

T^EAR Priscilla, quaint, and very- 
Like a modern Puritan, 
Is a modest, literary, 

Merry young American : 
Horace she has read, and Bion 

Is her favorite in Greek ; 
Shakspere is a mighty lion 

In whose den she dares but peek ; 
Him she leaves to some sage Daniel, 

Since of lions she's afraid, — 
She prefers a playful spaniel. 

Such as Herrick or as Praed ; 
And it's not a bit satiric 

To confess her fancy goes 
From the epic to a lyric 

On a rose. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Wise Priscilla, dilettante, 

With a sentimental mind, 
Doesn't deign to dip in Dante, 

And to Milton isn't kind ; 
L' Allegro, II Penseroso, 

Have some merits she will grant. 
All the rest is only so-so, — 

Enter Paradise she can't ! 
She might make a charming angel 

(And she will if she is good. 
But it's doubtful if the change'll 

Make the Epic understood) : 
Honey-Suckling, like a bee she 

Goes and pillages his sweets. 
And it's plain enough to see she 

Worships Keats. 



Gay Priscilla, — just the person 
For the Locker whom she loves ; 



A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA. 77 

What a captivating verse on 

Her neat-fitting gowns or gloves 
He could write in catching measure, 

Setting all the heart astir ! 
And to Aldrich what a pleasure 

It would be to sing of her, — 
He, whose perfect songs have won her 

Lips to quote them day by day. 
She repeats the rhymes of Bunner 

In a fascinating way, 
And you'll often find her lost in — 

She has reveries at times — 
Some delightful one of Austin 

Dobson's rhymes. 



O Priscilla, sweet Priscilla, 
Writing of you makes me think. 

As I burn my brown Manila 
And immortalize my ink, 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Hov/ well satisfied these poets 

Ought to be with what they do, 
When, especially, they know it's 

Read by such a girl as you : 
I who sing of you would marry 

Just the kind of girl you are, — 
One who doesn't care to carry 

Her poetic taste too far, — 
One whose fancy is a bright one. 

Who is fond of poems fine, 
And appreciates a light one 

Such as mine. 



A PERSIAN NOCTURNE. 

/^ NIGHTINGALE among the leaves 
Who singest to the blushing rose. 
Thy liquid, mellow music cleaves 

The garden's fragrance where it goes ! 
Who taught thy feathered slender throat 
This strange, delicious, limpid note. 

Which soaring skyward through the dark 
In swift, melodious pursuit. 

Tempts all the trembling stars to hark, 
And all the rustling leaves be mute ? 

Teach me thy song, O happy bird. 
That, 'neath the window of my love, 

My lips may speak some honeyed word 
With v/ings to waft it up above ; 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



And when she comes her starry eyes 
Shall shame their rivals in the skies ; — 

Her cheeks shall mock the rose ; — and thou, 
Beholding what thou thinkest thine, — 

Perched lightly on the lofty bough, — 
Shalt leave thy rose, and sing to mine ! 



HER GUITAR. 

T) Y the fire that loves to tint her 

Cheeks the color of a rose, 
While the wanton winds of winter 

Lose the landscape in the snows,— 
While the air grows keen and bitter. 

And the clean-cut silver stars 
Tremble in the cold and glitter 

Through the twilight's dusky bars,- 
In a cozy room where lingers 

Happy Time on folded wings, 
I am watching five white fingers 

Float across six slender strings 
Of an old guitar, held lightly, — 

Captivated while she sets. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



Here and there, five others tightly 
On the frets. 



Lost in loving contemplation 

Of the fair, shy, girlish face 
Conscious of no admiration, 

Posed with such a charming grace 
O'er this instrument some Spanish 

Serenader used to keep 
Hidden till the Sun would vanish 

And the birds were fast asleep ; 
Who, below his loved-one's casement, 

With the mellow Southern moon 
Through a leafy interlacement 

Shining softly, thrummed a tune : 
Did she answer it I wonder ? 

Did she frame a sweet reply ? 
Did she grant the wish made under 

Such a sky ? 



HER GUITAR, 83 



This I know, if she had listened 

To the melody I've heard, 
Mute confessions must have glistened 

In her eyes at every word ; 
And the very stars above her 

Must have whispered, one by one. 
Something sentimental of her 

When the serenade was done, 
For this music has but ended, 

And I leave my dreams to find 
With the notes are somehow blended 

Like confessions of my mind ; 
And the gentle girl who guesses 

What these broken secrets are, 
Is the one whose arm caresses 

This guitar. 



THE MUSE. 

T7OR months I had suffered derision,— 

A siege of poetical blues ; 
The fair mythological vision 

Familiarly known as the muse 
Had vanished and left me deserted, 

The frozen rhyme-rills wouldn't run 
While she, Miss Calliope, flirted 

With some other son. 

The ink which I penned every word of 

Once put upon paper, — it froze ; 
Presto ! — transformation unheard of 

The poetry turned into prose. 
'Twas clear that the rhymes were not running 

In pairs simultaneous then, 



THE MUSE. 85 



'Twas clear that my hand had lost cunning, 
And likewise my pen. 

I conquered some mental depression 

In this philosophical grief : 
The muse may repent her transgression, 

I reasoned, — and turn a new leaf, 
And some happy day, unexpected, 

Return and do penance a time 
By having her manners corrected 

In trivial rhyme. 

Alas for the " rhyme" with the " reason," 

Those two incompatible words ! 
I had as well dreamed of a season 

Of snow with its roses and birds. 
Calliope, I'd had enough of, — 

Here Shakspere's remark came to aid 
My brain with a trope : — She's the stuff of 

Which visions are made. 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



Then sudden, with never a warning, 

A voice at my side bade me write, 
As if out of darkness the morning 

Had flooded the landscape with light ; 
The rhymes came again like the verdure 

Which lifts to the heavens above, — 
Ah, Sweetheart, 'twas then that I heard your 

Lips murmuring love ! 



FOR SAYNTE VALENTYNE, HIS DAYE. 

/^^OE, little Rhyme, & greete Her, 

Goe, tel Her y* I thinke 
Things infinitely sweeter 
Y"" I male putt in Inke : 
Y^ Musick of y« metre 
Shal linger on y® Aire 
Y* whiles She turns y« Leaves & learns 
Y« Secrett hidden there. 

Flye, little Leafe of Paper, 

Flye, merrie-hearted Bird, 
& lett your Fancie shape Her 

Some dear & simple Word 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



Soe sweete it sha'n't escape Her, 
& if a Blushe you see 
Steale upp & chase across Her face, 
Return & counsell me. 

Haste, little God ! I send Her, 

Bye You, y"- MS, 
W*='' hopefull Love has penned Her 

Withe quill in Honie dipt ; 
Haste ; bidd Her Heart be tender 

Unto y® lightesome Line 
Where I in maske have come to aske 

To be Her Valentyne ! 



TO CUPID, FEBRUARY 14th. 

/^^UPID, goe to Her in haste, 

Saye my Hearte is hopeful! ; 
Of y® Songes y* She has graced, 

Here 's an Envelope full. 
Kiss Her once — y^ be your Fee ; 

Kiss her twice — for mine ! 
Kiss Her thrice & three times three. 
Telle Her you have come to be 
Her Valentyne ! 

Cupid, goe in haste to Her, 
Saye my Hearte is lonely ; 

Hasten, prettie Messenger, 
Bring Her to me — only 



MA DRIGA LS AND CA TCHES. 



Kiss Her once — y^ be your Fee ; 

Kiss Her twice — for mine ! 
I shall kiss her three times three, 
When you bring Her back to be 
My Valentyns. 



ENGAGED. 

"jl TUTE the music of the fiddle 

When we wandered to the door ; 
Must have been about the middle 

Of the night, or may be more. 
Every poising of her face let 

Loose the rhapsodies of love ; 
Every movement of her bracelet, 

Or her glove. 

After each adieu was bidden. 
Leisurely we took our leave ; 

One white hand was half-way hidden 
In a corner of my sleeve. 

Foolishly my fancy lingers ! 
Still, what can a captive do ? 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



Just the pressure of her fingers 
Thrilled me through. 

Spoke we of the pleasant dances, 

Costumes, supper, and the wine ; 
Gossiped of the stolen glances ; 

Guessed engagements, — mentioned mine. 
Some old sorrow to her eye lent 

Tears that trickled while we talked, 
And I found her growing silent 

As we walked. 

My engagement ? Queer, why stupid 

People peddle little lies ! 
Here, beside us, cunning Cupid 

Shot his arrows from her eyes ; 
In my heart a twinge and flutter 

Followed fast each dart he dealt, 
And my tongue tried hard to utter 

Wh*t I felt. 



ENGAGED. 93 

Standing near the polished newel, 

With the gas turned very low, 
Conscience seemed to whisper, " Cruel, 

Tell the truth before you go." 
So my courage, getting firmer. 

Set her doubtings all aright ; 
Tiny hands came with the murmur, 

" Now, good-night !" 

'Twas the same delicious lisp heard 

At the dance — a merry strain ! 
True the voice now softly whispered,— 

True she let her hands remain 
In my own, as if in token 

Of some wish in sweet eclipse. 
Cherished lovingly, unspoken 

By her lips. 

Long-lashed eyelids gently drooping, 
Face suffused with scarlet flush, 



94 MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 

Told the secret, as I, stooping, 
Kissed the rose-leaf of her blush : 

Like some happy, sunny island 
In a sea of joy was I ; 

Quick she turned her face to smile, and 
Said " Good-by !" 

When we met the morning after. 

Blithe as any bird was she ; 
Music mingled with her laughter, 

Every word was love to me. 
So the genial Mrs. Grundy, 

Seeing how our hearts are caged. 
Tells the truth at church next Sunday 

" They're engaged !' 



A LYRIC. 

T ADY, at your lattice I 

Launch this lyric to the sky 
On the fragrant tides of musk 
Dewy blooms exhale at dusk ; 
Love its pilot, — only Love 
Left to haven it above,— 
Left to guide it through the bars 
Of the twilight to the stars ; 
And these sentinels who keep 
Careful vigils o'er your sleep 
Shall to your soft slumber bring 
This love lyric which I sing ; 



96 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 

Thus throughout the summer night 
Melody shall make delight 
Mingle with your dreams and be 
Love's petitioners for me, 
Till the East shall hint of day, 
And the stars shall sail away 

Making music-billows break 

On your lids and whisper : Wake !- 

Till I see your curtain drawn 
And your rosy face— the Dawn ! 



AN UNTUTORED MIND. 

"IT THEN I was but a lad of eight, 

And Dorothy was turning seven^ 
My life seemed spent close by the gate 

Of what I had imagined Heaven ; 
So sweet was Dorothy, and mild. 

To every fault of mine so tender, 
I grew to love her as a child 

Accustomed always to befriend her. 

Through school hours I observed her dress, 

Plain calico to me was satin ; 
The habit often cost recess 

And many weary lines of Latin. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



She very seldom turned her face, 
Replete with roses, fair and ruddy ; 

She seemed to think the school a place 
For strict deportment and for study. 

In all the classes she was first ; 

She graduated, — went to college, — 
Returned most wonderfully versed 

In every branch and twig of knowledge. 
Alas ! I wear no savant's cap ; 

My brain is not a book-condenser ! 
No doubt she'll marry that young chap 

I hear her call " Dear Herbert Spencer T 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 

OTILL on the corner stands the school 

Where my first steps were taken, 
The butt of public ridicule. 

Deserted and forsaken ; 
The belfry no more boasts the bell 

Whose tumult used to measure 
My boyhood's hours and ring the knell 

To every prank and pleasure. 

The town has shifted foot by foot 

As temp or a mtitantur, 
And wisdom's wine to-day is put 

Into a new decanter 
Whose bright exterior seems to hold 

A vital essence cheery, 
Yet just this morning I was told 

*Twas dull within and dreary. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



The boy is father of the man : 

He lives and thinks as I did 
When, in short trousers, I began 

To have my joys divided. 
He took me back to this old place 

So with my youth connected, 
And looking in the youngster's face 

This picture was reflected. 

Out from the pages of my book, 

Too pictureless for study, 
I sometimes used to steal a look 

At one face, round and ruddy : 
'Twas wrong I knew, — 'twas very wrong. 

And cost me much derision 
When I was laboring with Long — 

O, — very Long Division ! 

My copy-book with faultless lines 
Of precept for each letter 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 



Was scribbled over with " Be mine" — s, 
A phrase which I wrote better 

Than any admonition there : 
It somehow seemed to nourish 

My jaded heart to read it where 
I'd penned it with a flourish. 

No matter how I strived to learn, — 

No matter how I studied, 
Once give my head the proper turn 

And then my eyes were flooded ; 
For there across the room sat she 

Who balked my brain's endeavor : — 
Thought I, one day I'll whisper " Be" 

And she'll be mine forever. 

Old school among the summer morns* 
And afternoons' long dozes — 

Those hours of mingled mental thorns — 
You put some minute-roses ; 



MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 



One — one you put, to me the best, — 

The sweet face of my story. 
Who budded, bloomed, then, like the rest, 

Died in her fullest glory. 

Ah me, the children you have known, — 

The girl with bird-like laughter, — 
The boy whose penitential moan 

Pierced to your topmost rafter, — 
Who hears to-day the voice of mirth 

Or sorrow's peal, I wonder ! 
How many yet are on the earth? 

Alas, — how many under ! 

Fit emblem of the change of time — 

Minerva's palace-ruin. 
Take this, a pupil's idle rhyme 

With love and me and you in ; 
And may the boy whose school-hours seem 

To-day so dull and gloomy, 
Grown up, inherit such a dream 

As you have pictured to me. 



A COLONIAL MISSIVE. 

"O Y Dorothy in Cambridge town 
This letter quaint was written 
To some young chap in cap and gown 

Whose happy heart was smitten, 
Long years ago when stately dames 

Were puffed and powdered Madams, 
And these were frequent college names,- 

Ware, Eliot, and Adams. 

The college yard was larger then, — 

The roll of students only 
Could muster up a hundred men, — 

Think, now-a-days, how lonely I 



104 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 

Yet almost every one of those 
Who won an A. B. honor 

Has left a name whose glory throws 
The laurels thick upon her. — 

Dear Harvard ! It is hard to sing 

Of this un-Annexed maiden 
Without forgetting everything 

Save you. My mind is laden 
With memories of by-gone days 

When I was wont to travel 
To lectures and the triumph blaze 

Across the paths of gravel. 

Just how this lad and lassie looked, 
Or what was his or her name — 

Her easy running quill ne'er crooked 
The semblance of a surname, — 

It matters not. I like to think 
I see her in the creamy 



A COLONIAL MISSIVE. 105 

Old paper 'twixt the lines of ink, — 
A face refined and dreamy. 

I picture her in homespun dress, 

Each small foot in a sandal, 
Her features full of tenderness 

Illumined by a candle, 
Her quill a feather slim and white 

Above the square of paper, 
The hand that guides it left or right 

Small, and the fingers taper. 

Those were the days of waxen seals 

And " f'-ish-looking " s"-es, 
Of high-heeled boots and spinning-wheels 

On which they spun their dresses ; 
And in this missive one may find 

Such candor in a sentence 
'Twould bring, if one were half inclined, 

A sinner to repentance. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. 



'Tis faded somewhat since it felt 

Her fingers smooth its features. 
And with it Father Time has dealt 

As with us human creatures : 
A wrinkle wreathes its inky smile 

And hides the comma-dimple, 
And makes it seem severe in stjde 

Which is severely simple. 

Ah, Cambridge Dorothy, I know 

As long as you were living — 
A rose-face framed in locks of snow, — 

His love had no misgiving ; 
And this love-letter which you penned, — 

Fast deepening to yellow. 
Seems thus to whisper : Like ?ne, FHend,_ 

Let love make thy life melloza I 



GOOD-NIGHT. 

npHE white stars blossom in the skies, 
Like daisies strewn in azure aisles ; 
I miss but two, — the gentle eyes 
That greet me with your smiles. 

Love's small astronomy is mine 

Who missing these miss all the rest : 

I hate these rival lights that shine 
To mock my lonely quest. 

Good-night, and may the angels keep 
Their faithful watches o'er each lid, 

Behind whose fringes, bathed in sleep, 
A turquoise sky is hid. 



SONNETS. 



BREEZES OF MORNING. 

/^NCE when the doors of night were open thrown' 
I saw the pink-robed Dawn, — as one who sees 
A rose-bud opening by slow degrees, — 

Step from the Orient, a golden zone 

About her waist : then, sudden, softly blown 
On fragile blossom-bugles by the breeze, 
I heard the fragrant roll-call of the bees 

And saw them troop responsive to the tone. 

And as I watched them drain their cups of dew, 
And saw them dart and flash their saffron stripes 
In all the opal radiance of dawn, 
The mythic age seemed merged into the new. 
And Pan once more upon his slender pipes 

Called to the dance the nimble nymph and faun. 



A PACIFIC DAWN. 

"XT THEN pale Selene in her crescent boat 

Sails down unto the margin of the West 
Through shoals of stars that twinkle in unrest, 

In fancy's bark I follow her, and float 

O'er sapphire seas to dreamy realms remote, 
And at my side there goes a feathered guest 
Who sings to cheer me, and the air is blest 

With melody responsive to his note. 

On, on I journey in the starry wake. 
And all about me is the purple dark 
Whence blow the winds by which my bark is borne 
And suddenly the poppy fetters break. 
The moon is gone, and in the field a lark 
Pavs tribute to the faint Pacific morn. 



A BUTTERFLY IN WALL STREET. 

TT TINGED wanderer from clover meadows sweet, 
Where all day long beneath a smiling sky 

You drained the wild-flowers' cups of honey dry 
And heard the drowsy winds their loves repeat, 
What idle zephyr whispering deceit 

Has won your heart and tempted you to fly 

Unto this noisy town and vainly pry 
Into the secrets of this busy street ? 

To me your unexpected presence brings 

A thought of fragrant pastures, buds and flowers, 
And sleepy brooks, and cattle in the fold ; 
Or, watching as you soar on trembling wings, 
I think for those who toil through weary hours 
You are a type of their uncertain gold. 



THE DANCING GYPSY. 

T TPON a mottled, tawny leopard-skin 

Spread in the sunshine on the dusty groundj 
Stood she, — a gypsy girl ; and, circled round, 

Sat dusky youths who made a merry din 

With wild, barbaric drums, while she, within, — 
A graceful figure, by no garments bound, — 
Danced to the tambourine's discordant sound. 

And mocked the instrument's delirious spin. 

Outside the ring were grouped some Arab boys, 
Who chattered glibly in the golden sun. 

And sang weird strains of song by fits and starts ; 
They seemed unconscious of the swelling noise, 
Yet he alone was so, — her chosen one : 

For all the rest, she danced upon their hearts ! 



STRATEGY. 

"\ /FUSE, grant me some new simile to sing 

Her matchless grace and loveliness, and tell 
What words shall fit the lyric's measure well, 

What metre smooth unto her lips to bring : 

Then shall my song be like an antique ring 
In whose small circlet precious jewels dwell,— 
Each line a gem to bribe the sentinel 

That guards her heart against Love's eager king. 

Then as she lends her eyes to read my song 
Perchance her heart its portals wide will throw 
And give admittance to Love's messenger, 
Who, summoning his king's impatient throng. 
Shall capture it, and come to let me know 
How easily he won a truce from her. 



RE-AWAKENING. 

"f T T'lTHIN a spot where slept the silent dead, 

i wandered once when spring had kissed the 
earth, 
And set around its breast an emerald girth 
Of grass, entangling roses white and red ; 
Among the leafy branches overhead 

The mating robins twittered in their mirth, — 
All nature seemed rejoicing in new oirth 
Beneath the canopy the blue skies spread : 

And as I sat beside one mossy stone 

Kissed by a hundred suns of summer skies, 

A sudden joy came to my heart, alone 

Among those graves, to think the dead shall rise 

In God's eternal spring when sounds are blown 
On angels' instruments in Paradise ! 



MISS THOMAS'S "A NEW YEAR'S MASQUE.' 

O HE finds companionship in field and wood, 
A friendly face in every path and nook ; 

The skies for her wear no uncertain look ; 
She comprehends the mystery and mood 
Of winds and waves and Heaven's starry brood ; 

She knows the message of the bird and brook ; 

For her all Nature is an open book, 
And solitary means not solitude. 

With this small volume as your talisman. 
When all the world is shrouded in the snows, 
Sit down and read these music-making words : 
And winter's blasts shall seem the winds that fan 
Your face in June — sweet with the breath of rosej 
And tremulous with twitterings of birds ! 



FRENCH FOLLIES, 



COME, PAN, AND PIPE. 

/^^OME, Pan, and pipe upon the reed. 
And make the mellow music bleed, 
As once it did in days of yore, 
Along the brook's leaf-tangled shore. 

Through sylvan shade and fragrant mead» 

On Hybla honey come and feed, — 
To tempt the Fauns in dance to lead 
The Dryads on the mossy floor, — 
Come, Pan, and pipe ! 

To-day the ghosts — Gold, Gain, and Greed, 
The world pursues with savage speed : 

Forgotten is your magic lore. 

Oh, bring it back to us once more ! 
For simple, rustic song we plead : 
Come, Pan, and pipe ! 



WHEN TWILIGHT COMES. 

T T THEN twilight comes and nature stills 

The hum that haunts the dales and hills, 

Dim shadows deepen and combine, 

And Heaven with its crystal wine 
The cups of thirsty roses fills. 

Blithe birds with music-burdened bills 
Hush for a space their tender trills, 
And seek their homes in tree and vine 
When twilight comes. 

Soft melody the silence thrills, 
Played by the nymphs along the rills ; 

And where the dew-kist grasses twine. 

The toads and crickets tattoo fine 
Drums to the fife of whip-poor-wills. 
When twilight comes. 



AN OLD RONDO. 

T TER scuttle Hatt is wondrous wide, 
All furrie, too, on every side, 
Soe out She trippeth daintylie. 
To lett y« Youth full well to see, 

How fayre y® mayde is for y® Bryde. 

A lyttle puffed, may be, bye Pryde, 
She yet soe lovelye is that I'd 

A Shillynge give to tye, perdie, 
Her scuttle Hatt. 

Y* Coales into y® Scuttle slide, 
Soe in her Hatt wolde I, and hide 

To steale some Kisses — two or three 
But synce She never asketh me, 
Y® scornful Cynick doth deride 

Her scuttle Hatt ! 



BEHIND HER FAN. 

T)EHIND her fan of downy fluff, 

Sewed on soft saffron satin stuff, 
With peacock feathers, purple-eyed, 
Caught daintily on either side, 

The gay coquette displays a puff : 

Two blue eyes peep above the buff : 
Two pinky pouting lips, . . . enough ! 
That cough means surely come and hide 
Behind her fan. 

The barque of Hope is trim and tough, 
So out I venture on the rough, 

Uncertain sea of girlish pride. 

A breeze ! I tack against the tide, — 
Capture a kiss and catch a cuff, — 
Behind her fan. 



HER CHINA CUP. 

TTER china cup is white and thin ; 

A thousand times her heart has been 

Made merry at its scalloped brink ; 

And in the bottom, painted pink, 
A dragon greets her with a grin. 

The brim her kisses loves to win ; 
The handle is a manikin, 

Who spies the foes that chip or chink 
Her china cup. 

Muse, tell me if it be a sin ; 

I watch her lift it past her chin 
Up to the scarlet lips and drink 
The Oolong draught. Somehow I think 

I'd like to be the dragon in 
Her china cup. 



TO CUPID. 

/^UPID, tell me how to twine 
Words like roses in a line, 
Fit my lady's eyes to greet. 
For her red lips to repeat 

That her heart may fathom mine. 

How to make each sentence shine — 
Love with modest speech combine — 
How to set her heart a-beat — 
Cupid, tell me ! 

Tell me, may I dare to sign 

All the love and fancies fine — 

All the thoughts and secrets sweet. 
That I lay before her feet ? 

Does she love her Valentine ? 

Cupid, tell me ! 



"AWAKE, AWAKE!" 

A WAKE, awake, O gracious heart. 

There's some one knocking at the door ! 
The chilling breezes make him smart ; 
His little feet are tired and sore. 



Arise, and welcome him before 

Adown his cheeks the big tears start : 
Awake, awake, O gracious heart, 

There's some one knocking at the door ! 

'Tis Cupid come with loving art 
To honor, worship, and implore ; 

And lest, unwelcomed, he depart 
With all his wise, mysterious lore. 

Awake, awake, O gracious heart, 

Tkere's some one knocking at the door ! 



TO MY LOVE. 

/^UTSIDE, the blasts of winter blow 

Across the city clad in white ; 
Each flake of madly driven snow 

A demon seems, with teeth that bite ; 

The windows rattle as with fright, 
And winds the chimney whistle through ; 

Alone with memory, to-night, 
I'm happy, thinking, love, of you. 

Within, I watch the embers glow ; 

The slender flames in sudden flight 
Leap from the crackling logs, and throw 

Around the room a golden light ) 



TO MY LOVE. 



Romantic tales their tongues recite, 
And mellow songs, as if they knew, 

Alone with memory, to-night, 
I'm happy, thinking, love, of you. 

From Dreamland all my fancies flow ; 

My friendly books, with faces bright, 
Return my listless gaze, and show 

No sign of sorrow at the slight. 

Hark ! from the steeple's dizzy height 
The bells the air with echoes strew : 

"Alone with memory, to-n'ght, 
I'm happy, thinking, love, of you." 

ENVOY. 

Love, let this song of mine invite 
Your sweeter voice to echo, too : 

"Alone with memory, to-night, 
I'm happy-,' thinking, love, of you." 



VALENTINE TO AN ANONYMOUS MISS. 

/^~^ OLDEN locks in cunning curl ; 
Eyes like jewels set in rings ; 

Teeth, a row of polished pearl ; 
Lips, two rosy blossomings : 
Spryly to my side he springs : 

Pray, who is this fairy fine ? 
At my feet he coyly flings — 

" Will you be my Valentine ?" 

Ah, my brain is in a whirl. 

Thinking on such dainty things ! 

'Tis young Cupid ; see him furl 
At his back two tiny wings ! 



VALENTINE TO AN ANONYMOUS MISS. 131 

Just between, a quiver swings, 
Dipt in love's delicious wine. 

To each dart the flavor clings — 
' * Will you be my Valentine ?" 

Watching, I shall see him hurl 
Recklessly these sugared stings ; 

Shaped like lips of some sweet girl 
Is the bow his shoulder slings — 
Silken hair twined for the strings. 

Snap ! — What ails this heart of mine. 
Clamoring with questionings ? — 

" Will you be my Valentine ?" 

ENVOY. 

Muse, unto the maid who sings 

For my ears this teasing line, 
This reply the echo brings : 

" Will jF<?2^ be my Valentine ?" 



A COQUETTE. 

Q*HE wears a most bewitching bang-, — = 

Gold curls made captive in a net ; 
Her dresses with precision hang ; 

Her hat observes the stylish set ; 

She has a poodle for a pet, 
And drives a dashing drag and pony : 

I know it, though we've never met, — 
I've seen her picture by Sarony. 

Her phrases all are fraught with slang, 

The very latest she can get ; 
She sings the songs that Patience sang, 

Can whistle airs from " Olivette." 



A COQUETTE. 133 



And, in the waltz, perhaps, might let 
You squeeze her hand, with gems all stony : 

I know it, though we've never met, — 
I've seen her picture by Sarony. 

Her heart has never felt love's pang. 

Nor known a momentary fret ; 
Want never wounds her with his fang ; 

She likes to run Papa in debt ; 

She'll smoke a slender cigarette 
Sub rosa with a favored crony : 

I know it, though we've never met, — ■ 
I've seen her picture by Sarony. 



Princes, beware this gay coquette ! 

She has no thoughts of matrimony : 
I know it, though we've never met, — 

I've seen her picture by Sarony, 



A SWELL. 

T TIS forehead he fringes and decks 
With carefully cut Montagues ; 
He angles his arms semi-X, 

And dresses in delicate hues ; 

His haunts are the rich avenues ; 
Staccato is somewhat his gait ; 

It takes but a wink to amuse 
His sadly impoverished pate. 

His costumes are covered with checks 
He travels in taper-toed shoes 

Through Vanity Fair, there to vex 
The silly young heart that he wooes 



A SWELL. 135 



He's clever with cards and with cues, 
And banters with Fortune and Fate : 

Alas, that the lad cannot lose 
His sadly impoverished pate ! 

He's fond of the frivolous sex ; 

His light conversation he strews 
With "toffy," — aught else would perplex 

The topic his fancy pursues ; 

The cud of contentment he chews. 
While women and wealth on him wait ; 

And nature with nothing endues 
His sadly impoverished pate. 



Fair princesses, all who peruse 
This ballad, beware ere too late» 

Lest Opulence hear you abuse 
His sadly impoverished pate ! 



OF RHYME. 

"Xli THEN blossoms born of balmy spring 

Breathe fragrance in the pleasant shade 
Of branches where the blue-birds sing, 

Their hearts with music overweighed ; 

When brooks go babbling through the glade, 
And over rocks the grasses climb 

To greet the sunshine, half-afraid, — 
How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! 

When invitations are a-wing 

For gay Terpsichore's parade ; 
When dreamy waltzes stir the string 

And jewels flash on rich brocade, 



OF RHYME. 



Where Paris dresses are displayed, 
And slippered feet keep careful time ; — 

In winter, when the roses fade, 
How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! 

When by your side, with graceful swing, 
Some fair-faced, gentle girl has strayed. 

Willing and glad to have you bring 
Your claims for love and get them paid 
In kisses, smiles, and words that aid 

The bells of bliss to better chime ; — 
When Cupid's rules are first obeyed. 

How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! 

ENVOY. 

Reader, forgive me, man or maid, 

Against Calliope this crime ; 
And let this brief ballade persuade 

How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! 



TO AUSTIN DOBSON. 

TTROM the sunny climes of Frances 

Flying to the west, 
Came a flock of birds by chance, 

There to sing and rest : 
Of some secrets deep in quest, — 

Justice for their wrongs, — 
Seeking one to shield their breast, 

One to write their songs. 

Melodies of old romance, 

Joy and gentle jest, 
Notes that made the dull heart dance 

With a merry zest ; — 



TO A USTIN DOBSON. 



Maids in matchless beauty drest, 
Youths in happy throngs ; — 

These they sang to tempt and test 
One to write their songs. 

In old London's wide expanse 

Built each feathered guest, — 
Man's small pleasure to enhance, 

Singing him to rest, — 
Came, and tenderly confessed. 

Perched on leafy prongs, 
Life were sweet if they possessed 

One to write their songs. 

ENVOY. 

Austin, it was you they blest : 

Fame to you belongs ! 
Time has proven you're the best 

One to write their songs 




015 971 969 8 



iHlOH 



wromHji';,.';^ ^^ 




-■ \VvV_../;^?>N^-' 













A. 



